


To Outrun the Moon

by SaffronGin



Series: In Search of the Sun [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst and Feels, Broken Families, Character Study, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Forbidden Love, Infidelity, Love, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Post-War, Relationship(s), Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaffronGin/pseuds/SaffronGin
Summary: A story following Bill after his time with Hermione in "In Search of the Sun."
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bill Weasley
Series: In Search of the Sun [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200725
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Absence

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to read "In Search of the Sun" as "To Outrun the Moon" has some little throwbacks to that one. Thanks for reading my fics <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill is aimless. How does he find direction?

The Three Broomsticks bustled with laughter that didn’t reflect on the faces of the group in the middle of the room. Everyone was cramped together, alcohol absent from the table. Ron had bags under his eyes, they looked purple in the low candlelight. Bill’s face was buried in Fleur’s hair and had his arm wrapped around her. He avoided looking at Ron.

Everyone else’s eyes and sympathies, however, replaced the happiness that would otherwise be the tradition. Ron conceded for the night around 8 pm. He didn’t want to bring down the celebrations. It was May the 2nd after all. It’s been five whole years. No reason not to celebrate.

But Ron couldn’t celebrate. Hermione had just left him, only she hadn’t _just_ left. It had been 5 months. Or was it 6 months? Ron couldn’t remember. Bill could. The last day he had seen Hermione was days before Hermione left his brother. Ron didn’t know about Bill, and Bill didn’t intend to tell him. 

He didn’t _want_ to tell him, not because he felt guilty, but because he still thought about Hermione. And somehow, in the finality that came with Ron’s announcement that Hermione had left him, he thought he would be faced with the reality that Hermione had left him too.

Bill did in fact not feel guilty. He could in fact bear to look at his brother as he got out of his chair and exited the same door that Hermione had done two years prior. And he felt nothing. He knew his face showed nothing and disguised this by burying his face into his wife’s hair, smelling her, and longing for the smell of parchment and ink.

Hermione dulled everything he felt or didn’t feel inside and enveloped him in something completely new. And he didn’t know it, but he was terrified that he would never get that again. Once Ron had left the Three Broomsticks, Bill blurted out, “Is _she_ coming, then?”. 

He had thought it would be harder to fake disdain. It was easy.

“She said she might, but didn’t want to upset Ron.” Ginny said. Harry looked at Ginny and then said after what looked like a ponder. “I’m going to go after him, someone should be with him tonight.” 

Ginny pecked Harry on the cheek and smiled sadly as she watched Harry leave. She then turned to everyone else. “They always have their trouble, they always get back together.” 

Bill’s face remained indifferent.

Two hours later, a tinkle at the door sounded no different to the rest of the night’s jangling. Hermione quietly walked in and sat beside Ginny, the furthest seat away from Bill and smiled in greeting to everyone. A forced smile, expectantly waiting on everyone to tell her to leave. Ginny called Rosmerta over and ordered a gin and tonic, hugging her shoulders sideways.

“You guys will figure it out,” Ginny said reassuredly. “He’s getting better, he didn’t have a single drink tonight.”

Hermione smiled weakly and actively avoided looking at Bill. 

“I’ll only stay for one drink.” Hermione said shortly. “It’s tradition, I almost would have missed it.”

“You could have.” Bill said in a quiet voice. It was in a harsh and hoarse growl. Fleur’s eyes had flashed in panic at her husband’s words and she shushed him.

“‘E doesn’t mean it, ‘Ermione.” She said hurriedly. 

Bill ground his teeth, annoyed everyone mistook his annoyance with Hermione as sympathy for Ron. He was angry at Hermione because he didn’t exist to her anymore. He was invisible and he wanted her to acknowledge that he sat there. His glare intensified as Hermione gulped back the gin and left in a hurry. She forgot her jacket on the rack, everyone had noticed too late. Bill hadn’t, but he let her go into the cold this time.

***

Bill gazed at Fleur’s silver head in the moonlight and counted her breaths, trying hard to fall asleep. Visions of Hermione swam through his head, her eyes were filled with tears. Her hair whipping around her face and then her disapparition. When she was gone that night, he felt nothing. Where something was before, sitting in his chest waiting to burst forward, there was nothing. He bloodied his hand on the wall and had to heal himself. He did a poor job and bore the silvery scars across his knuckles to show for it.

Bill had to be at Hogwarts the next day, so they stayed at the Hog’s Head Inn at Aberforth’s semi-persistence and Fleur’s fondness for his humour, which had considerably increased after the battle.

Bill grunted as he got out of bed, Fleur didn’t stir. He put his boots on outside of the room and walked to the Three Broomsticks. The lights were on, it was 2:30 am, but the place was empty. He knocked softly and Madam Rosmerta answered the door. She looked him over before stepping aside and letting him in.

***

Bill dressed with his back to Rosmerta. She lay in bed with the sheets pulled all the way to her neck. Her face was layered with guilt. Bill knew Rosmerta would sleep with him because he was younger than her, and she felt younger when she was with him. She also felt some guilty pleasure knowing Bill would sleep with her while he was married to Fleur, Fleur being as beautiful and young as she was. But that’s where her guilt stopped. She was not tied to anyone. Bill liked that about her too.

The sun was coming up over the hilltop past Hogsmeade and he got back to the room as Fleur stirred awake. 

“Are you getting ready to leave? What time did you have to meet zem.” she said sleepily, her eyes unopened.

“Yes dear, you can go home when you’re up.” Bill said as he stripped for a shower. His body felt hollow and the warm water reminded him of Hermione’s body.

***

He walked to meet Filch at the gate of Hogwarts. As he gazed at his past, a pang tugged at his insides. Low in his gut, a throbbing ache. Hogwarts was whole again, and he had returned, less than whole. 

On the walk to the castle, with Filch grunting from the effort of keeping up with Bill, he thought about how he felt nothing as he stared at Ron’s face the night before. And the nothing he felt when inside of Rosmerta. He thought for a bewildered moment, that he felt nothing now, as he stared at the place where his brother and so many others died.

Then for one tiny painful prick of a moment on his memory, he felt the crushing weight of something he had ignored for the past 5 years and managed to bury it again behind the darkness of the nothingness that resided in him to his very core. 

He plastered a smile on his face as he entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to greet the bored students. Their attention had mildly peaked as he entered in his long strides, in a dragonhide jacket and boots, a fang dangling from his ear half hidden by his long hair tied low.

He smiled wider, grotesquely,, his scars contorted his face. He saw some students wince away, and he smiled more genuinely at the fear he saw flash through their eyes.


	2. The Replacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could anything replace her? He would try.

Bill returned home after his day at Hogwarts. Fleur was there to greet him with a flourished kiss and they sat to enjoy dinner. A trunk and a travel bag spectated from the corner.  


Fleur was going to visit her mother and sister in France while Bill was needed in the northernmost part of Scotland for what looked like a Viking burial with a strong curse. He slept restlessly that night.

Fleur had packed him the travel bag. She was to apparate to France and him to Scotland at the same time. So they would be in two different places without missing each other. His heartstrings would tug when he thought of the romantic whims of his wife. He kissed her fondly on her forehead then lips, leaving them red from warmth before they smiled and turned with a _crack_.

It was warm this time of year, so the rain that made the ground sodden below his feet amused him for a time as he kept his head down and walked to the tavern he would be lodging at.

It was there he saw a bushy-haired girl, curled on a squishy armchair at the fireplace. The book in her hands was titled _Memoirs of a Geisha_ and her eyes were enraptured. Her glasses reflected in golden glints from the fire, her mind undeterred from the tavern din.

He tore his eyes from her after he had realised he had stopped breathing and smiled faintly at the pub owner. He was expected, so after checking in, the owner’s wife led Bill to his room.

Once he had settled, he made his way to the tavern floor to get some lunch. His eyes absentmindedly searched for the girl with the book and he felt a little drop in his stomach when he couldn’t find her.

He ate lazily that night and sat in a corner afterward, observing couples and drunks wander in and out as he sipped on pint after pint until midnight. Trudging past the window, the rain dripping across his view like tears, he thought he spotted her again. He blinked and she was gone. He dragged his feet up the stairs and fell into bed, thinking of the smell of parchment, ink, and salt in the breeze.

***

The morning after, Bill apparated to the site he was meant to investigate. He spent the day prodding and poking and probing with careful magic so as not to implode whatever treasures lay inside. Everyone watched patiently as he did this, eagerly awaiting to learn about what was buried. 

As Bill shifted dirt carefully with magic, his mind wandered back and forth between his work and Hermione. He felt the darkness that defined him move within him like a crack was forming, allowing light in. It was unbearable. In frustration, he told them he would be back after lunch.

At the tavern, the girl sat curled at the fireplace again. Her glasses had slipped to the tip of her nose and she pushed them back up eagerly. Her eyes whipped across the paper he had remembered how Hermione’s eyes would also. Sitting in the opposing armchair directly across from her, a small coffee table in the middle, he had his meal and watched her serenely.

He ordered a beer and stared into the fireplace, at which point the girl reached absentmindedly over and spilled her cup of tea. It flowed quickly onto Bill’s lap and she looked up startled to see him there. 

“Sorry!” she exclaimed. She had a towel at her waist that she pulled quickly forward and sapped at the table. “Shit, sorry. It got on you!” 

She clumsily moved forward and patted at his lap that had already retained most of the cold tea. 

“It’s okay.” Bill said in a low voice and he stared down at her as she knelt before him. “Get up, you shouldn’t be down there.”

“No! In fact I _should_.” she said blushing. Then hastily added, “I mean, I work here. Kind of.” 

Bill looked at her inquisitively. “You work here?”

“Yes!” she said with a glance over Bill’s shoulder. “My papa’s the owner, you see.” 

“Oh!” Bill said and then asked before he formed the question in his mind, “You a muggle, then?” 

Her eyebrows crinkled and she said, “No, I’m a Porter. Like the pub’s name.”

Bill glanced around to see the old man peering at him suspiciously. Bill gave him a wry smile, his hands in the air. _I’m not touching your daughter!_ Bill was awestruck that this girl who sat before him was non-magical, she had _her_ air all around her.

“Papa! I spilled tea on him, could we get him a pint?” she asked, calling over Bill’s shoulder.

“I can’t let you get me a pint without a name.” Bill said with a smile..

“Oh! I’m Addy.” she said smiling, leaving him with a view of the back of her bushy hair. When she returned with his pint, he pointed at her book.

“You like that book?” he asked her.

“I’m enjoying it so far!” she said cheerfully, curling back up in her armchair.

“It’s my favourite.” Bill said quietly.

“Interesting taste, you have there.” she said, then her eyes widened. “I didn’t get your name, mister.”

Bill smiled curiously and said, “William.”

***

He returned to the Viking site and was able to break one of the curses, but the other two burial sites that flanked the main one proved to be different curses altogether. He would have to stay for the most, another week. He wrote to Fleur that night.

The next morning he had breakfast with Addy, then lunch, then dinner. She sometimes laughed in a way that took his mind back to Shell Cottage and the faintest knot was forming in his stomach. He got her a used book from the bookstore nearby and enjoyed watching her read that. Tonight, she read a chapter out loud for him.

Addy’s father kept a wary eye on her. This night before leaving early, which she did every night to sleep, she bent forward and pecked him on his cheek. She whispered shyly “I can finish reading this to you, tonight. If you like.”

Her breath had tickled the whiskers he let stubble his face. Bill looked at her green eyes and smiled. “1 am?” She skipped away to the stairs and didn’t look back.

***

Bill held a pint as he sat reclined in the chair at the study desk. The moonlight slivered in and made everything a muted grey. A faint knock at the door prompted him to shift his chair back with a dry skate. Addy stood timidly at the door, a candle throwing the room into relief, filling it with warmth. 

Bill stepped aside and let her wander the small room. She observed his strange clothes that hung on the bed head and the parchment strewn on the study desk. She didn’t ask why it was so strange but instead, looked at him. 

“Put the candle down.” he said. She obeyed. “What do you want?”

“You’re so mysterious.” Addy said gazing at him directly. His loose shirt fluttered in the breeze that wisped through the room. The candle fluttered. “What happened to your face?”

“Wolf attack.” Bill said promptly.

“Woah.” She took a step toward him and caressed the scars, a look of awe in her eyes. 

Bill’s face was mere inches away from hers. In this light, she didn’t look like Addy. Addy wasn’t in the room anymore, not to him. Bill stepped forward and put his mouth to hers and she moaned. He wrapped his hands around her and pulled her to him, Addy placed the candle on the desk in a fumble and led Bill to the bed. 

Bill raised the nightdress she wore over her head, it dropped to the floor in a soft rustle. She was panting, her skin was pale in the moonlight. He hardened against her and pushed her onto the bed. He ripped his shirt off, drinking her in with his eyes. He dropped his pants and climbed on top of her, balancing himself on his hands that were on either side of her head. Addy was breathing hard, Bill watched her chest rise and fall. 

“Do you want this?” he said, pressing himself onto her stomach. She squirmed, then reached for his face.

“Yes.” she said breathily. “William.”

Bill pushed himself into her. He felt instant relief and smothered his face with her hair that lay strewn below her. She grasped onto his back, digging her nails into his skin. He groaned as he thrust into her. The bed strained loudly and Addy wrapped her legs around him. He buried himself in her and didn’t want to resurface.


	3. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill returns to Shell Cottage.

Four days had passed since writing Fleur on his delayed return. He had finished breaking the curses before the expected seven days. 

Bill lay snuggled in bed, his face buried in Addy’s hair as she breathed softly. The door clicked as it unlocked and Fleur stepped into the bedroom. She nestled her small trunk against the wall with her back to the bed and then turned to face him. Her fingers hung loosely intertwined as she gazed at his slowly rising and falling chest. Bill was never a snorer.

She cleared her throat, and Bill stirred. He started. A startled look blanched his face and he quickly muttered a sleeping charm to keep Addy asleep before he got out of bed. He thought of formulating an apology and Fleur cocked her head sideways. 

“Fleur-” he started saying, after finding his pants.

“I knew, Bill.” she said simply and she raised her eyebrows at Addy who lay still in bed.

“You kno-” He tried to say before Fleur cut him off.

“About all of zem.” she said. Bill’s insides iced. _Hermione?_

“ _All_ of them?” Bill asked her.

“I know you’ve been sleeping wiz women,” Fleur said sadly. She sighed and leaned into the writing desk behind her. “I know you’ve been struggling.”

“Oh.” Bill said lamely. He didn’t feel ashamed. He looked at his beautiful wife standing in the soft morning light and felt nothing. He contorted his face into what he felt looked like a remorseful expression.

“I’m sorry.” Bill felt himself say. He didn’t mean it.

“Yes, of course.” Fleur said. She looked at Addy. “Is she a muggle?” 

“Yes.” Bill said.

“Are you done with the job?” Fleur asked briskly. 

“I broke the last curse yesterday.” Bill said glancing at Addy.

“And, naturally, you celebrated.” Fleur said icily. She turned to the open window and listened to the morning as it awoke with the sun.

“I will correct ‘er memory, she will not remember you. Not like zat.” Fleur said. She looked pointedly at Bill’s bare chest. Her voice was tart, the result of the internal struggle to not show that she was hurt. Bill thought she wanted to hurt him, he saw Fleur’s neck muscles strain. He gathered his things as Fleur altered her memories. “It’s a pity, I was looking forward to some site seeing.” 

Bill flicked his wand and all his things stuffed themselves into his travel bag. He lifted the sleeping spell and left with Fleur without a look back at the Porter’s Pub. 

He felt emptiness as they apparated to their home. He didn’t feel like he was returning to anything comforting. He mused about how Fleur only felt like a distant someone, and he vaguely felt a pang in his stomach as he thought about how he had been caught. But he wasn’t really caught, because she had known. 

Bill wanted to ask if she knew about Hermione. Fleur had simply said “all of them” meaning, she just knew he was up unfaithful. He dropped his travel bag at the foot of the bed.

Once Fleur had floated her trunk to the bedroom, she began unpacking by magic. She worked quietly with her back to Bill. 

“‘Ow many of zem?” Fleur said thickly, her French accent stronger with the stiffness of her body

Bill shrugged, realised she could not see him and said, “I don’t know.”

Fleur stood still, Bill could almost hear her thinking. 

“Leave.” Fleur said quietly. 

“I thought you would want to-” Bill said, then stopped. “Okay.”

Bill got to his feet, grasped his travel bag’s straps and strode through the front door. In a twist on his heel, he glanced at his home that wasn’t a home before disapparating. 

He found himself at Shell Cottage, cold air whipped at his face. He could taste the salt. It was dark and he stalked into the cold cottage.

***

Bill had sat before the fireplace he didn’t remember firing up. The wind whistled its usual tune and the ocean crashed in a rhythm that harmonized with the crackling of the wood. The rest of the cottage was in darkness. 

He wrote a note by the firelight and sent it without thinking about what he had written. He rolled over and fell asleep on the couch in a half-lit grate of the fireplace. His travel bag stood abandoned in the foyer.

A loud _crack_ awoke him and a soft knock prompted him to move. The wind was quietly competing with the sound of the ocean. 

“Bill?” Hermione’s voice called. Bill’s gut churned. He sat up and stared at the embers as they shuddered into soot. “Bill!”

He walked to the door and looked squarely at Hermione’s feet. “Hermione.”

“What did you do?” she asked, stepping toward him.

“Fleur doesn’t want- she doesn’t need me anymore.” Bill said.

“What?” Hermione said, confused. When Bill said nothing, she shuffled her feet then said, “Are you going to let me in, or did you send an owl to the wrong person?”

Bill stepped aside and let her in, Hermione saw his travel bag and continued to the kitchen. She lit the stove and put some water on. 

“Bill, what did you do?” Hermione asked again. 

“I slept with someone.” Bill said. 

“I know, you have been.” Hermione said, her eyebrows raised. 

“Fleur knows.” Bill said, Hermione’s mouth hung open. “She has apparently _always_ known.”

“About _us_?” Hermione asked, aghast.

“No, no. She found me in bed with someone.” Bill said, he sat tiredly at the dining table.

“I thought you were into that kind of thing,” Hermione said, glancing at his face. She had a vivid image of Bill’s eyes locking onto hers with Fleur’s arms wrapped around him in the upstairs bedroom. His face remained unmoved. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even know why I wrote to you.” Bill said, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes then finally looked at her. Hermione’s breathing caught in her throat at his eye contact and she turned to the kettle that had started to whistle. 

Hermione brought the cup of tea to the table and sat next to him. The steam rose from the cup and they both stared at it, Hermione put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed gently in a side hug.

“I can’t stay here, Hermione.” He said as he turned his face to look at her. 

“Where else can you go?” Hermione asked.

“Not the Burrow.” Bill said, reading her eyes. “They can’t know.”

“I can help you find a place?” Hermione suggested. 

“That would be nice.” Bill said, his mouth moving into a grimace. He was trying for a smile. “Do you mind if I drink?”

“No, go on.” Hermione said she had leaned back in her chair. With a flick of Bill’s wand, the bottle of fire whiskey flew to them.

Bill poured himself one glass, threw it back, then poured another. 

“I guess I fucked up, huh?” Bill said looking at the whiskey. “I wish I felt something.”

“You do, though.” Hermione said, watching his face. “You’re sad, I can tell, I just think you knew it would happen.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Bill said. “Where have you been?” 

“I have my own place. I’ve been going to work. I’ve been trying to live, Bill.” Hermione said with a smile. 

“How’s that working out for you?” Bill asked, he looked at her.

“I’m happier than I have been, since the war.” she said. She called a glass over with her wand and poured herself a bit. She gulped it back and held her glass out for Bill to pour some more. The tea in the teacup was no longer wispy. “Are you going to get help now? Do you think you’re ready?”

“Help for what?” Bill said, smirking at her. Hermione felt herself blush. 

“Don’t you want Fleur back?” Hermione asked him.

“It’s only been a couple of hours. She’s better off without me anyway.” Bill said, then gulped back his whiskey.

“Bill.” Hermione said sadly, and she gripped his forearm and squeezed gently. “Don’t do that, you love her.”

Bill’s eyes flashed and Hermione quietened. 

“I’m sorry.” Hermione said quickly, then she shifted in her chair and stood. “I should go-.”

Bill caught her wrist. 

“I’ll be back; help you look for a place, okay?” Hermione said, her pulse had quickened on his fingertips.

“Stay.” Bill said, looking up at her. Hermione looked to the front door, as though she wanted to escape. “Fleur already knows, what’s the harm?” he continued.

He stood up and he stood half a foot taller than her. Hermione was frozen.

“Bill, we can’t do this _again_.” Hermione said, Bill heard the pain in her voice. His chest tightened. He thought how he hadn’t felt this way when Fleur said _Leave_. 

“Hermione, stay. Please.” Bill said, he stepped toward her. He smelled her familiar parchment and ink familiarity, mixed with a hint of something new; flowery. Hermione didn’t step back. Bill could tell she had been lonely. He leaned forward feeling the heat of her skin make his own tingle.

“Bill-” Hermione started.

And he kissed her. Slowly at first, tasting how different she was now. She opened her mouth instinctually in a greeting that felt hesitant, then eager. He pushed his tongue into her mouth to find hers and flicked gently. She moaned and she sank into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her.

He traced her jaw with his thumb, stroking her throat and then the little hollow between her collar bones. He found her chest rising and falling as he unbuttoned her shirt. 

“Fuck.” Hermione said quietly and sharply under her breath. She pulled away. Bill stared at her, her blouse half undone and she looked absolutely torn. She glanced down at his pants, then back at his face. 

“Come here.” Bill said in a low growl his fingertip jabbing at the tabletop. 

Hermione hesitated, then obeyed. He put his hands onto her waist and pushed her backside to the table. He lifted her and placed her firmly upon it. She opened her knees as he came in to kiss her mouth. His hands tugged at her pants to pull them off, falling in a silent rush to the floor. He continued to unbutton her blouse and undid the clasp of her bra. 

Hermione’s body was on fire. Bill’s cock strained against his pants when he stood back from her, fully clothed. He rubbed his fingers between her slit and Hermione shuddered, not making a sound. Her breath quickened and she kept her eyes locked onto his as he inserted his fingers into her. 

She reached for his pants undoing the belt in a hurry. She didn’t bother to drop them to the floor before guiding him into her with a moan as she bit into his lips. She kissed him as he thrust into her and he pushed her flat to the table and ground himself so deep into her, he felt euphoric. He pulled at Hermione’s hair and nipped at her neck, not afraid to leave marks on her skin as he moved slowly in and out of her. 

She was so wet already, he couldn’t think of anything but her smell, warmth, and depth. He could get lost in her. Truly lost.

Hermione locked her legs around his waist and yanked at his hair, Bill grinned widely.

“I can fuck you right back, William.” She said, a wicked smile on her face that then contorted with pleasure and he slowly sunk into her.


	4. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill leaves Shell Cottage.

Bill leaned back against the counter, his gaze focused in the distance out the window at the breaking waves and windswept grass atop the sand mounds. The kettle whistled shrilly and he turned the stove off to make some coffee. He added some pepper-up potion to it for good measure.

His stomach gurgled in protest but he wasn’t up to making himself anything to eat. Instead, he gazed at the dining table, the chair that lay on the floor, and felt an emptiness well inside him. 

He saw Fleur vividly. She stepped lightly into the room and said “Sorry darling, I overslept. Let me make breakfast for you.” with a peck on the cheek. She vanished when he blinked.

He jumped when a window threw itself open with a loud clack against the stone wall. A cold breeze gusted through the rooms. He latched the window closed and lit the fireplace. The skies behind the house had clouds that looked angry and hung low in the sky, the wind was pushing salt into the air in bursts that erupted on the horizon.

A light tapping came from the window at the front of the house, where there were no signs of the angry weather. A ruffled, proud, brown bird was knocking at the glass and Bill hurried over to let it in. The owl straightened his feathers with his beak and a shake after he hopped onto the counter, then stuck his leg out. A neat little letter was attached, _Bill_ was written in Fleur’s handwriting.

Bill looked at it blankly for a second before opening it. He thought his heart should be constricting, or speeding up, or his gut should be twisting, but it didn’t.

His heart remained perfectly beating in a slow rhythm when he read the words “Don’t come home until you sort yourself out. I’m worth more than you value me right now. I want my husband back. I love you.”

He read the “I love you” though and felt a pang. He wondered why she would include that, then read on, “I’ll see you when you’re better.” 

Bill put the letter on the countertop and his mind went blank. Did he feel nothing because Fleur wasn’t there? Does this feel different to her unconsciously using her Veela genes? Why was he so empty? Fleur was his _wife_.

He took a walk in the stormy winds, and by the time he returned to the cottage his coat was crusted in salt and his hair felt grainy in his hand when he pushed it back from his face, looping it behind his ears.. He put the hot water on and stripped while preparing the bath. The whole day had passed without occurrence. He wondered if the letter counted.

A knock at the door interrupted him lowering his body into the bathwater and he rose out of the tub, wrapped himself in the towel, and answered the door. Hermione stood with a brown take-out bag, shielding her head from the lashing wind. The smell of rain was racing past them now, the downpour would be here soon. He let Hermione in, and when she looked up and saw him in a towel her face pinkened. 

“Oh, I can wait-” Hermione started. She walked to the kitchen and started unpacking the brown bag of food. 

“Or you can join me?” Bill said smiling. Hermione was silent, the crackling from the bag stopped. 

“Bill? Did Fleur write this?” Hermione asked. She had seen the letter.

“Yes, I suppose she did.” he said, looking at Hermione. He walked toward the bathroom, stopped at the archway to the corridor, and looked at her.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked looking at him, sadness in her eyes.

“Like I need a bath. Do you want to help, or not?” Bill said, he took a step back and disappeared around the corner. Hermione sighed and followed.

By the time she had entered after him, he had dropped his towel and was lowering himself into the still steaming water. 

“Did you go for a walk in all this wind?” Hermione asked, she touched his hair and felt the salt’s crustiness in it. She balanced herself on the edge of the tub.

“Get in.” Bill said, smiling up at her. Hermione had long noticed the smiles she received were not going to his eyes but obeyed. She stripped under his gaze.

Hermione slid into the tub at his feet. The warmth of the water was contrasting with the coldness of the air and she shuddered a little. Bill put the tap on again to run more hot water in, their wands a bit out of reach to quicken the process. He sat up a bit and looked at her directly in her eyes. The water made gentle sounds as it lapped at their skin and the tub’s walls.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked, the water was now cupping her breasts, the edges of her hair in wisps at the top of the water. He turned off the water. Hermione nodded.

“Are we going to talk about the letter?” Hermione asked.

“Why?” Bill rebutted. “She doesn’t want me. I’ve not kept my vows as a husband, this makes sense.”

“You love her still, Bill.” Hermione said. “What’s happening inside of your head?”

“I feel nothing.” Bill answered. “I have felt nothing since -” 

He stopped and his eyebrows met in the middle, in similar anger to that night a few years ago when he told her she didn’t have to marry Ron.

“What are you so angry about?” Hermione asked, she reached a dripping finger to his face, touching the space between his eyebrows where the pressure seemed to hurt the most.

His face relaxed and he looked blank again. His blue eyes still burned in defiance, like an internal battle raging on. 

“Are you here to _save_ me, Hermione?” Bill asked, his jaw was clenched a little behind the forced calm.

“I want to help you.” Hermione said startled.

“I thought you wanted this.” Bill said, his hand slid under the water to between her legs. He slid his fingers between her slit and Hermione squirmed.

“I-” Hermione started, and she pulled away by sitting up. Bill leaned forward some more, bringing his eyes level to hers and holding his face a few inches away. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “If you feel nothing Bill, maybe I should just leave.” 

Bill slid away from her, the water slushed loudly in an abrupt interruption of the steady noise from outside. He looked at her and cocked his head sideways.

“That’s fine.” he said, smirking. 

“If I stay, can we talk about-” she gestured to him, “this? You?”

“I can’t make any promises. Broke the last bit I made, didn’t I?” Bill said, the smirk fading.

Hermione climbed onto him, settling onto his lap. His cock was pressed between them. _This is all he wants, isn’t it?_ Hermione thought. And she worked herself onto his shaft and sat firmly, before rotating her hips. 

Bill bit his lip and groaned, his head fell back. Hermione kept her eyes on his face, taking in every reaction. Bill involuntarily bucked his hips upward, the warmth of the water was nothing compared to Hermione. He wanted to be in her forever. To feel something but the lonely coldness that was everything else he knew.

Bill tried to look at her as she lifted herself slightly to push him in again, but she yanked at his salty hair and he got a view of the ceiling. He put his hands to her hips feeling them rotating as the feeling of nothingness faded away into the feeling of pure bliss.

***

Bill watched as Hermione dried her hair, naked before the darkened windows behind them. The wind was rattling the panes and water hit like tiny stones against the glass. He drank in how the light from the fireplace hit all her curves and his head felt a little light. 

Bill thought he saw her pause before leaving the cottage, like she wanted to stay, and then thought better of it. Something was on her mind. He didn’t ask.

A letter came, the parchment was Ministry of Magic stationery signed “H” the following afternoon. Hermione asked him if he would rather stay with her in a small cottage she was renting at the time, so he wouldn’t have to be alone at Shell Cottage. He didn’t think much of it before saying yes. 

Bill spent the rest of the day lazily napping or reading before he heard a _crack_. Hermione had come with a sad smile upon her face. She took his hand when he charmed the door and with a spin in the sand at their heels, they disapparated to a quiet countryside. 

The beach’s waves echoed like white noise in the absence of the constant din. It took a moment for it to be filled with the sound of wind rustling through trees and grass, and the smell of earth and flowers to greet him. He gazed at the tiny cottage before him.

It had a stoney exterior, moss was its paint. A wooden door led directly to a room that shared duties of being a kitchen, dining room, and living room. A bedroom was behind a bright red door. There was a small shelf with some books decorating it. They looked well used. She helped him find a place for his things before falling exhausted into bed. He removed her shoes.

Bill listened to her snore softly for a little, longing for her warmth. He found his feet when a wolf howled longingly at the moon outside. He remembered the way to the front door and opened it; he stood and stared at the full moon above his head, the silvery light enveloped him in its cold, blue shine. His skin stood with goosebumps as the wind slid over his skin and under his clothes, and he heard the wolf cry at the moon again.


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill's first day at Hermione's home.

Saturday morning, Bill woke in the little garden. He was curled up and the morning dew soaked him through. He entered the house and Hermione was in the bathroom. He pushed the door open and Hermione yelped in surprise. 

“Sorry.” Bill murmured. He smiled a little and started stripping. Hermione dropped her gaze from the mirror and turned to dry her face in the towel. She saw his wet clothes and looked up at his face. His hair was matted on his skin.

“Did you sleep outside?” she asked incredulously.

“Yea, I guess. Didn’t realise I had fallen asleep.” Bill said, climbing into the shower and turning on the hot water. “Want to join?” 

Hermione blushed and said, “I haven’t even had breakfast Bill.” 

Hermione thought she heard him chuckle as he closed the shower curtain.

Bill smelt the bacon and eggs as he patted himself dry and walked to the kitchen, sitting at a stool that furnished the kitchen island. 

“I thought you were going to help me look for a place.” Bill said.

“I thought this would be better.” Hermione said cracking another egg into the bacon fat. Her face reddened and she added hastily, “I mean, I could help you look for a place from here and you didn’t want to be at Shell Cottage.”

“I get to have you.” Bill said, mostly to himself. The kettle whistled.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing.” And he watched as she finished breakfast. They ate in silence, but the warmth that filled the room that morning to Bill didn’t feel like morning sunshine.

***

The Daily Prophet was delivered by owl some time after breakfast and they settled in front of the fireplace to look at places for rent. The more excited Hermione got about how good a place was made him increasingly angry. He didn’t know the agitation he felt was building until Hermione asked if he would want to see one. Today.

With a grunt, he got off the floor and paced to the kitchen, under the ruse of getting cold water. 

“Bill?” Hermione called. “Today?”

A shatter echoed from the kitchen.

“Bill?!” Hermione cried in alarm. She found him staring at broken glass and water splashed on the wall.

“What the hell?” Hermione asked.

“Sorry,” Bill said and he turned away, his back heaved as he breathed heavily. “I’ll clean this up.”

Hermione watched him as he remained unmoving and she flicked her wand, repairing the glass. 

“Are you angry with me?” Hermione asked him.

“I just got here last night, Hermione.” Bill said. Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Weren’t we supposed to look for a place for you?” Hermione said cautiously.

“Fuck, can’t I stay here _one_ weekend?” Bill asked, his fist hitting the counter half-heartedly as he sighed. 

“Okay, yes.” Hermione said. She approached him and touched his shoulder. He didn’t look at her right away, but he was staring at the silvery scars on his knuckles. “Bill.” she said, and he looked at her. He pressed her body to hers and grasped her in a tight hug. They stood there silently embracing until Bill looked away to wipe his eyes.

“Bill, you’re angry because of the war. Fleur leaving isn’t helping. You need to get some help, I can only do so much for you.” Hermione said, she laid her hand on his back. 

“I feel nothing, Hermione. Nothing. Nothing right now anyway.” Bill said.

“But, you’re obviously feeling something.” Hermione tried to explain, “You need to talk about it.”

“I feel nothing all the time, except when I’m with you. Then I feel angry if you try to take that away from me.” Bill said. The words sounded stitched together like he had difficulty finding them.

Hermione stood silent, watching him. Bill was quiet and the sun had lit the room in its prime afternoon sunlight. It was nearing 2 pm and Hermione remembered a pond she liked.

Trying to break from the tension she felt, she said in a mustered voice, “Want to go for a swim? I can show you around here, take a little walk. My favourite pond is not far, and it’s so nice on days like today. It’s warm.”

Bill looked around at her and nodded. They grabbed two towels, and Hermione walked in front of Bill toward a hill in the distance. He watched her hair dance with her bouncing steps and realised the flowery smell that lingered on her came from the fields around the cottage.

The pond glittered in the sun, the water was so clear, the moss was visible as it settled at the bottom. The water invited him in. It was cool to the touch when he put his toe in and he looked at Hermione doubtfully. Hermione was already half-naked, grinning back at him. The sunlight glowed against her bare skin, and she dropped her underwear, took a little run, and dove into the water.

Bill followed her lead and his breath caught in his chest with the initial shock. By the time he surfaced, the water felt like a warm pressing hug. Hermione swam to him. 

“Hey there.” She said smiling. “I told you it was good.” Bill got close to her and she wrapped her legs around him. Her skin was a little cooler than the water but warmed up where it made contact with him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he found he could tiptoe on the floor. The pond water was now a little green from the clouds of sediment being interrupted from their settlement.

He kissed her softly, his arms around her waist. Her breasts were soft on his chest, the water making everything feel softer than on dry land. He was hardening as she pressed her skin to his, slow tingling touches beneath the water. He kissed her more passionately, opening his mouth to taste her. Her hair swirled around then as he steadily carried her to the shore. The grass was moist and soft where he lay her down. Her legs were still around his waist.

Hermione looked up at him, the sun lighting his red hair to bright orange. Water dripped from the tip of his nose to her cheek and she giggled. He pressed his shaft onto her clit, gaining a moan from Hermione, her mouth in an O.

She took him in her hand, and directed him into her. With a slow grinding motion he sunk in and Hermione arched her back, tightening her legs’ grip. 

“Fuck.” Hermione moaned into his ear. Bill tugged at the nape of her neck leaving a new red blot next to the faded purple one.

She pivoted her weight and rolled him over, pinning him under her. Bill felt himself slip deeper into her and grunted with a gasp. Hermione rocked her hips, the sun lighting her skin, the water droplets like jewels as they fell down onto him. He sat up, Hermione still rocking her hips onto him, and wrapped his arms around her back, holding her close.

Hermione felt incredible to him; her skin, her body. Inside of her felt like everything he needed.


	6. The Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has nightmares that wake him from his sleep.

Bill opened his eyes to Hermione shaking him. Her face was bleary-eyed and confused.

“Are you ok?” She asked, touching his forehead. It was wet with sweat.

“Yea, I am. Sorry.” He said, laying on his back and panting. He was having a dream. One he’s had often before, but no one ever woke him from it. Fleur never woke him in confusion. He would wake himself. 

He heard the shadows of the sound that echoed in his brain, the sound of falling castle walls and screaming. He had seen Fred’s blank face and the rest of his family sobbing over his motionless body while he was pulled away by invisible hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked, she had sat up now, attentive.

“No.” Bill said with barely a glance. He closed his eyes stubbornly until he felt Hermione lay back down beside him. When he felt her roll over, he got out of bed and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror. Fear. And as soon as he noticed it, his insides iced back to nothing and it was gone.

He walked to the kitchen and poked around for some alcohol, finding a meager amount of gin in a cabinet. He poured all of it and stared at the glass in the dark. 

Hermione found him on the armchair by the fireplace the next morning, she didn’t say anything about last night.

After breakfast, Bill pointed at the empty gin bottle and asked, “Was that all you had?”

“Yes, I am a social drinker.” Hermione said, her back turned to him, washing the dishes. “I don’t really drink by myself.”

“I’ll pop into town, get some more then. Replace what I used.” and he left with a _crack_. He returned twenty minutes later with a paper bag that clinked gently when he put it on the table. Hermione had sat in the armchair with a book in her lap waiting for him.

“What do you do on Sundays? Out in the middle of nowhere.” he asked as he settled opposite her. 

“I make myself some lunch. Or buy some. I read. I walk.” Hermione said holding up the book.

“Your life seems so simple.” Bill said.

“Not right now, it isn’t.” she said with a smile.

“You’re a social drinker, would you drink with me? Take another walk?” Bill asked. Hermione looked up from the book, the page was unturned. “We only got as far as the pond last time.”

“Where do you want to see next?” Hermione asked him, a smile broadening on her face.

“A meadow.” Bill said, “Where ever that flowery scent comes from that clings to your hair and skin.”

Hermione closed the book with a slap and jumped to her feet. 

“Come on then!” 

She looped her elbow into his and they walked a flattened path of grass in the sunlight. The breeze offered slight relief from the sun rays that browned their skin after some time. 

As they walked past the pond, Bill glanced at Hermione, whose face had gone pink. 

“Don’t want another swim today?” Bill teased. “Legs too tired for swimming?”

Hermione pushed him sideways and ran giggling. Bill smelled the flowery scent in the air. It grew more intense the further they went and over one last hill, there was a meadow littered with colours of wildflowers in spots like confetti through the tall grass.

Hermione conjured a picnic blanket and two glasses. She poured herself a modest amount of whiskey and watched as Bill filled his glass. Clinking the glasses together, they said “Cheers!” and sipped. Hermione lay down flat on the grass and stared at the blue sky.

When they had finished about half the bottle, they thought it was a good idea to go into town and get some lunch. It was a late lunch. Hermione and Bill tripped over their own feet and laughed like teenagers on a first date. People stared, some smiled knowingly, like they were witnessing two people falling in love for the first time.

When they twisted to apparate, almost falling over in the process to get back to the isolated cottage, the night had fallen and everything was washed in blue light. They started a fire in the fireplace and cuddled, Hermione read the book out loud. Bill’s head lolled. 

He woke again with Hermione shaking him awake. Her face was warped with concern. His eyes opened and the world was blurry and he felt like he was on water. _Right, we were drinking._ He thought to himself.

“What happened?” he asked Hermione.

“You were yelling in your sleep, like last night again.” she said.

“Fuck, sorry.” Bill said, “I don’t usually yell in my sleep.”

“Well you’ve been here two nights, and you’ve yelled out two times.” Hermione said. “We should talk about it.”

“What about it?” Bill said, he stretched. “I’ve had the dreams before, it’s always the same.”

“What do you dream about?” Hermione asked, she snuggled into him.

“The war.” Bill said shortly.

“Fred?” Hermione asked. Bill’s breathing stilled.

“Yes.” he said after a moment.

“You haven’t been yelling in your sleep before?” Hermione asked.

“Only here.” Bill said.

“Is it because you’re with me?” Hermione asked.

“What? Because you make me feel something other than -” Bill paused, “-other than whatever it is otherwise.”

“So you’re finally processing the war?” Hermione said quietly, it sounded like a statement more than a question.

“I guess. But I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want to feel this.” Bill said, his hand absentmindedly touched his chest. It had constricted on him when Hermione mentioned Fred.

“You want to fuck me instead, and feel that?” Hermione said bluntly.

“Being with you feels good.” Bill said quietly. Then continued in a hurried sharp sentence, “The war doesn’t.”

“You have to feel what you’re feeling to get better.” Hermione said, pulling away from him. “You can’t just stay like a hot and cold robot forever.”

“Why?” Bill asked, his voice a little louder. “Why can’t I just have you and move on?”

“Because it isn’t moving on, Bill!” Hermione said, her voice was steady. 

“So do I leave then?” Bill said angrily, louder still. He had pulled further away from Hermione. Both were on their knees, Bill was glaring at Hermione’s calm face. “I just got here, and I have to leave to what? Go find myself? Like you did?”

“I faced my demons, Bill.” Hermione said. “I want you to feel better.”

“And you feel better then?” He asked her, clenching his jaw. Hermione was getting to her feet now, Bill rose with her. 

“Yes! I do!” Hermione said, her voice cracking a little, the calmness she tried to keep faded.

“So why am I here? Why are you still sleeping with me?” Bill asked, his fists balled in anger. Hermione glanced at them and took a step back. Bill noticed and asked, “Are you afraid of me Hermione?”

“No.” She said, her hands were balled into fists too. 

Bill stomped to the kitchen and opened the other bottle of whiskey.

“Don’t-” Hermione started. He glared at her.

Bill threw the glass at the wall, shards littered the floor. 

“There!” Bill said, turning on his heel and glaring at her. “Better?”

Hermione’s eyes welled with tears, Bill’s hardened face softened a little. But he stood still, he did not go to her. Hermione turned to the shattered pieces, hiding her face. She flicked her wand and repaired the glass, hiding to wipe her face.

She returned to sitting on the floor, her back against the armchair’s base. She opened the book and didn’t look at Bill again.

“Hermione -” Bill said, he took a step toward her. He growled angrily and he punched the wall. Hermione flinched, but she did not turn to him. “It’s not just the war. It’s whatever this is.” He had turned his face to show his scars. She still wasn’t looking at him. 

“I’m not a werewolf, I’m not wholly human. I don’t know if you were right, about the smelling and the hearing.” Bill said in a low growl, he took steps toward her, closing the gap. “I can smell the salt from your tears.”

He stood in front of her now, the tears were wet spots on the open unread book in Hermione’s lap. He put his hand out to her and she took it. He pulled her up into a hug, then pushed her back to the wall, pressing his weight onto her. The wall was warm from the fireplace. Her crying stopped. Bill wiped the wetness off her face.

Hermione saw the blood on his knuckles from where he hit the wall. 

“That’s how you got knuckle scars?” she asked. “Didn’t you heal them after?”

“What’s the point?” Bill asked.

And she kissed him. She dug her nails into his back. Bill pressed himself into her stomach and Hermione rotated her hips automatically. Bill pushed one of his legs between hers and raised it to press onto her clit. She moaned into his mouth. 

Bill bit at her lips and nipped at her tongue, she tasted of whiskey and tears. She pulled away from him suddenly and pounded her fists into his chest. 

“Wait! Fuck you.” Hermione said, pushing at his chest. “You can’t just be angry like that and get what you want.”

“Why not?” Bill said, he looked at her, the moonlight glinting in his eyes. Hermione’s eyebrows came together in anger. 

“You have to work on yourself. You can’t just use me to feel something other than what you need to feel.” Hermione said angrily, her fists pushing still against his chest. Bill pushed his leg up against her and she squirmed. “Fucking the feelings away doesn’t work.”

“I can try.” Bill said and he kissed her again. She bit him harshly, drawing blood. 

“You need to go back to Fleur.” Hermione said. “Figure your shit out.”

“I am figuring it out. Let me.” Bill said, softly. The trace of the anger in his voice now came in breathy, eager words. 

Hermione softened, she realised pushing him away wasn’t making him budge. Bill saw her think _Just one more time_ , before she leaned in to kiss him. She widened her knees when they weakened, then wrapped one leg his hips. He pushed her underwear aside and drowned himself in her.


End file.
